Thorns of a White Rose
by Sisera Tyne
Summary: Treize has a moment of intellectual thought about the ways of war and mankind . PG, very mild angst, AU (no time line), first person POV


-Author: Sisera Tyne

-Author: Sisera Tyne

-Title: Thorns of a White Rose

-Pairings: none

-Warnings: PG, very mild angst, AU (no time line), first person POV

-Summary: Treize has a moment of intellectual thought about the ways of war and mankind . . .

***Standard Disclaimers Apply***

-+-

The full moon shines down in its pale solemnity out of the velvet darkness of the sky. The crisp night air surrounds me as I close my eyes and listen to the silence ringing in my ears. I've always found it amusing how some people cannot stand the quiet. It seems to scream at them, making them uneasy; leaving an unfilled void in the air around them. It's then that they suddenly become self conscious, suddenly aware of who they are; suddenly aware of the significance of that serenity.

And I've always laughed at the irony of it all. . .

The human mind is such a complex thing. Even now scientists still haven't discovered all the secrets of man. They never will. We are complex organisms; things of nature. And in this, we are nothing more than wild beasts made to breed and populate the Earth; made to fight. Evolution has placed us at the top of the food chain, and from there we step forthright in our glory to preside over all of what nature has to offer to us. . . and yet, instead of ruling over what is ours we choose to fight each other and kill our own flesh and blood. And for what? To claim one man's land for his own and rule an empire? No. . .that's hardly the case. We fight for our beliefs. . . isn't that so? No, I think not. That's not it at all. It's the emotions brought out in battle that make us fight. It's the sudden rush of adrenaline; the lust of blood and power. But in truth, that blood is none other than our own.

Thus, our power is weakened, and we wish only for the demise of our own selves for the sake of peace. Peace. I've come to believe that peace doesn't exist, but then again, without peace you cannot have war; and vice versa. It's a balance that cannot be shaken. It is the eternal battle of good and evil; and but then that leaves me to wonder who is good and who is evil. 

I stand from my chair on the veranda and begin my nightly walk of the gardens. This always relaxes me; helps me relieve the turmoil, but as I walk along absorbed in my own thoughts I can't help but pick up my thoughts where they had left off. 

Hasn't it been long established that evil has been represent by darkness and good has been represented by light. Ahh yes, that's it. The white knight rides triumphantly up on his mount to defeat the dark knight in a classic tale of chivalry. Yet, I can't help but wonder what happens when those extremes of black and white fade slightly, and blend together to paint a rather gray color in history. What happens then? What happens when that balance is broken? Is it then that the world finally ends in an apocalyptic disaster that will forever haunt the lost souls of mankind? If that is so, then I fear that the end is soon. Five have come from outer space to wreak havoc and have blurred those black and white lines. . . 

To think that a young boy, who except for his eyes, looked every bit of that of an everyday child attempted to slay me in a duel. I think it was his eyes that disturbed me the most. His eyes were that of a man, wise beyond his years of old age. Eyes of a supposedly innocent young boy shouldn't be able to murder without more than a second thought. I believe I have riled a great enemy from its bed of stars and yet I am thankful.

Yet again I favor this irony of thankfulness. That young man and his fellow comrades have brought me to another world and have disturbed the repetition of history. Forever they have changed the world by staining their own hands with blood, just as I have. It was during that eventful duel that I realized that I was no longer the man I thought I was. I am not the proud leader of OZ, nor am I a diplomat, and may the gods forbid anyone compare me to a saint of any kind. . . 

For I am merely a man. . .

I am the man who has viciously murdered a thousand lives. I am the man who has led this world into chaos. I am the man who has led soldiers to their graves. I am a man, a thing of nature; nothing more, nothing less. I am the wild beast who craves for that surge during battle; the one who finds the destruction beautiful. 

Before me a vine of white roses climbs up a statue of an angel, and as I walk closer I can see the tears that streak its weatherbeaten stone face. Gently plucking a single white rose I look up at the moon as it slowly fades away, like everything else in this world. Only then, as I stare back at the crying angel before me, do I notice the pain and the blood that trickles down my hand and stains the snow white rose. It is then that I turn to the stars and feel a sense of foreboding for I know that this war will end in tragedy that even Shakespeare couldn't have fathomed. . . 

~owari~


End file.
